Rended 2 : Ishin's Travels
by Emiri-chan the GREAT
Summary: Kenshin and Haiyashii are forced to return to Kyoto four months after the war's end, but Kenshin refuses to work for them, asking only to be a servant. The men are wary and contemptuous of him. Will he survive them, or will past deeds and fear be his end?
1. Return to Kyoto

Wha...what happened? (Yawns as she wakes up from two-century coma)  
Is...is this really--? (Looks around at white scenery) Can it be?!

YESSS!!!! I LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!!!!

I'm back ladies and gentlemen. And as I was reading someone else's summary, they gave me the perfect quote for today: "Contrary to popular belief, I'm not dead!"

Everyone, I just want to formally apologze for the ABSURD amount of time an update has taken me. I will probably post another chapter of this before I post the next chapter of Pay Attention, Class because, well, it's just not written yet. 

So, Instead, I am at last granting the wish of the public and writing the sequel to Rended.

Here it is folks. The First Chapter. But I must warn you, trying to keep up with school (9th AND 10th grade), violin, and teaching is just a pain in the you-know-what when it comes to fanfiction productivity. So keep reviewing and bugging me to update, and I just might. Heeheehee...

Oh, and also I have changed the timeline. Kenshin was not, in fact, sixteen when the war was over, (you were right), so just ignore the screwup and accept that he is now nineteen years old. Enjoy!

  
  
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The new era.

It had come so...unexpectedly for most. The newest soldiers for the Shogunate had already been sent home after being in training for two full weeks. Some of the more experienced soldiers had been kept on as bodyguards and the like. Others were allowed to return home to their loved ones. 

Some were disappointed, others were relieved.   
And some were taking it... hard. 

Once you are a warrior fighting for the cause, you devote yourself to it. So what happens when you are suddenly no longer needed after all those years? 

What do people think of you? How do they see you?...

...And how do you see yourself...?

**Rended 2: Ishin's Travels  
**  
_Kyoto. Four months after the defeat of the Tokugawa regime._

  
It was bright. Almost blinding.

He wasn't used to seeing it like this; at first he'd almost failed to recognize the city. He felt a hand fall comfortingly onto his left shoulder, warm through the fabric. Even though he knew who it was he still had to stifle the automatic urge to shy away from contact. 

A low, masculine voice questioned him gently. "Are you sure about this? I won't force you."

"We already reached our decision. We don't have any other choice."

Haiyashii nodded, watching the boy's solemn-faced reaction as he gazed at the familiar, yet unfamiliar, crowded street. The two stood cloaked in the shadow of a large plum tree, just outside the city gates. The leaves were full and ripe on the tree's branches, a luscious, live green blocking out the sun. The blossoms had already fallen, as it was a bit later in the year, but their deep, sweet fragrance still hung suspended in the air. 

Himura was glad to see the cold gone; the biting snow had been too eager to return him to darker times. But on occasion the warmth made him dizzy, as did the shocking white sun. He was so used to night, so used to shadows. 

Still, it was good to see the beautiful city and it's people. He remembered times when he'd leaned against an alley wall and watched the children in the square, playing, laughing, happy. It would encourage him and remind him of why he did what he did, why so many had to be sacrificed to the gluttonous god of war. 

A sudden picture sprung to his mind's eye as he breathed in slowly and deeply, of a woman standing quietly under an awning, dressed in white, watching as the Shinsengumi passed in their bright blue and white uniforms, saya glistening in the sunlight. 

Others followed, less bright and beautiful, spattered with blood and glistening in moonlight.

Himura shook his head slightly to rid himself of the images, emphasizing the unusual trait of his fire-colored tresses by flicking the high topknot. 

Haiyashii tightened his grip slightly on his companion's shoulder. He knew it made him uncomfortable being out here in the open, completely exposed without even a bandage over the conspicuous X mark on his face. 

It was something new to him to be seen. Something he didn't like. 

The former captain had barely been able to convince him of the necessity of staying in the town, but after a few hours of intense conversation, they came to an agreement. Being a wanderer really didn't make much money, and the only place they would be shown hospitality was at a place where they were well-known and accepted.

And of course, the only place they would be well-known _and_ accepted was at the government headquarters in Kyoto.

Drawing in another deep breath, the former hitokiri motioned for them to go.   
Finally uncovered from the darkness under the tree, it was easy to see why the two drew so many stares. Himura's black, stained gi and dark hakama did nothing to divert attention, not while his saya and bright orange-red hair caught the sunlight like jewels. Haiyashii's red gi was somewhat dulled from dirt, but since it was obviously military issue and since he towered almost two full heads above the boy, the former captain was receiving almost as many open-mouthed looks as Himura.

The two had been travelling outdoors for more than three of the four months after the war. After his attempted suicide, Himura had needed time to recover, so travel had not begun immediately. Even now the wound was affecting him, though he always hid it when a twinge from his left side or a sudden wave of dizziness swept through his body. It was hard to recover on so little food and shelter as they'd had for the past few months, and the grueling miles didn't exactly help either. 

Haiyashii had watched him like a hawk--or a mother hen--for the first two months, but after that he'd seemed to have recovered, what with the opening to the injury having closed and color--well, as much color as Himura normally had, anyway--returned to his features.

As the two weaved their way through the stream of passersby, the boy watched the people's faces, examining them from the inside out without seeming _too_ interested. Most turned away as soon as possible, uncomfortable at being studied with such strange, piercing eyes. Behind them people parted like water in the wake of a frigate, stopping and whispering amongst themselves:

"Who are they?"

"I've never seen them before."

"Outsiders--"

"That man's a soldier. What's he doing here?"

"Hey. Look at that--"

"Is he that kid's bodyguard?"

"The boy has a sword. He must be military, too."

"Hmm. He looks familiar."

"Look at that hair."

"Something's not right with those two--"

"Shouldn't be here--"

The captain cast a look behind them and the whispers ceased. Himura ignored them. He hadn't expected a warm reception. A few children tried to stop and stare, but they were quickly dragged away by worried parents. Soon the two men were approaching the wall, and the guards on duty in front of it. 

The first guard was sagging against the wall lazily, the top button of his blue uniform undone, fanning himself with a leaf, looking bored and hot and tired like an experienced guard who's been standing there all morning does. The second was a younger man who, aside from looking tired, was standing straight and tall at attention, as he'd probably been taught in his training. He only looked about eighteen. Maybe younger.

But when Himura and the captain approached the entrance in plain sight from the parting of the skittish crowd, both of them had their eyes fixed on the two new men. The first guard picked up his katana and unsheathed it, while the second simply put a hand on the hilt and eyed them warily. The older man spoke up.

"Hey, you two. What are you doing here?" he asked, sneering. "You're early. All new recruits weren't supposed to come until next month."

"We're not recruits," Haiyashii explained politely. "We simply need a place to stay. You see we've been travelling for months, and we--"

"--Then you may as well leave right now," he interrupted. "You won't get anywhere in this town with that on your waist." He indicated the boy behind him with a thrust of his chin. "There's a sword restriction on. You either give that up or I can arrest you right now."

"Oh, really? A sword restriction. I suppose that's a wise policy, especially now. Well, he has permission from Katsura Kogoro to carry that, though unless we get inside to see him I guess that's kind of impossible to back up," he said thoughtfully.

"Hey, for all I know you two are thieves and cutthroats wanted by Katsura," the other man spat. "Hand over the sword and go."

Himura, who had kept silent and uninvolved up 'til now, slowly stepped up until he was face to face with the man. He blinked, figeting uncomfortably as the kid stared up at him with bright yellow eyes. After studying him for a few long moments, he turned away with an expression that said this man wasn't worth his time. 

"We aren't new recruits. You don't have to worry about losing your post unless you provoke us further."

The guard's face screwed up in anger, flushing red. "_Why you--_"

The boy ignored him and walked over to the younger guard who, at that point, had backed up against the far wall. 

He was trembling.

"S-stay away," he stammered. "P-please, just s-s-stay away from me..."

He advanced until the petrified man was pressing back on the stone to get away. Himura watched him closely, noting that he kept his hands as far away from the hilt of his sword as possible. 

Almost as if he didn't want to appear a threat. Like staying still when a hungry tiger had its eye on you. 

"You know who I am," Himura half-said, half-inquired.

The boy swallowed, his eyes steadily fixed on the other's. "Yes, I know who you are," he managed. "Please, he doesn't know, he doesn't know what he's doing. J-just leave him alone, don't...don't..."

Himura put his face so close to the other man's he could feel his breathing. The hitokiri's eyes were red-rimmed. "You're afraid of me." He didn't sound happy, like the boy had expected him too. Nor did he sound sad. 

Just very, very tired. 

The guard's eyes were questioning but no less careful. "Ye...yes."

"Why?" The boy released him and stepped back a few feet. His expression wasn't warm, he didn't smile. But his eyes were soft. Soft enough for the man to give him an answer.

"I should think you'd know. Everyone here knows your name," he said warily. "You're the Hitokiri Battousai."

At that point the other guard was the one shrinking away. He looked like he was ready to commit ritual suicide, his face having taken on the pale sheen of a dead fish.

"My name...is behind me now." The younger guard looked startled, lifting his head to meet the other's gaze. 

The boy gave a slight smile. "Call me Himura. That is my name."

With one last glance in the older guard's direction he motioned with a tilt of his head and a glance that he and Haiyashii should proceed. The captain glared at the rude man but bowed and followed obediently, falling into step behind him.

  
  
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Don't worry, later chapters get a whole lot more interesting.  
Yes, he is going to get bullied for not rejoining as a soldier, and yes, lots of angst. I love it, it's syrup for my pancakes.

But no, I DO NOT hate Ken-ni. If you're a hard core fanficcer or anime buff you know what I'm talking about. 

Anyway, there will be nightmare scenes, a Tomoe's gravesite visitation, and girls-catch-him-inn-the-shower (or rather waterfall) scene, and a bunch of cute playing-with-kids scenes. Plus, as a bonus, at the very end, everyone will get to see how kick-butt our dear little Ken-ni chan really is. So stick around and stay with me folks, this could get interesting...

What am I talking about?! This WILL get interesting! Noww, please be a good little fanficcer and review? You have no CLUE how happy you'd make me. (Even though I don't deserve it...No updates for Emiri-chan since LAST YEAR...WAAAAAAAAAAAAAA---)

^_^X 


	2. Decisions and Weaknesses

**Chapter 2  
**  
"Whoa..."

"Holy..."

The front of the new Government Police station was clearly visible now. It was all too easy to pick out with two guards watching over the entrance, and flags flying triumphantly over the large western double doors. 

The guards recognized him immediately, and although he'd never bothered to learn their names, he also registered the faces of the two with their scars and creases. A single nod was his only acknowledgement of them as he and Haiyashii strode thru the doorway. The two men gave him on last glance and straightened back to their original positions. 

Himura and his 'bodyguard' made their way down the hall in silence, not exactly comfortable with the way things had gone. The reactions from the guards at the city gates were still fresh in the boy's mind, the raw fear in the eighteen-year-old's eyes scorching his memory. 

It was so ridiculous; why, why would he want to kill them? The very idea was preposterous. The war was over, and even if it had still been the Bakumatsu that man would have been with the Ishin. What reason would he have to be afraid?   
_  
Because_, a nasty little thought sneered at him, wagging it's finger in his face, _you kill everyone around you. No matter how hard you try it will never work out. Why didn't you finish yourself off when you had the chance? You were a fool for not keeping your promise!  
_  
A sudden flash of Tomoe's pale countenance hovering over a bleeding, battered Saitoh banished the evil thought into oblivion. Yes,_ that's_ why: Tomoe. Haiyashii had said it before. 

If he killed himself, then the death of the one he loved most would become meaningless, and he couldn't do that to her. That was something he would surely be damned for. 

Not to mention the idea of what weakness it would take to end his suffering now, while he was still to blame, while guilt poked and prodded at his insides, and take the easy way out. What cowardice would that be, to choose the thing that Tomoe had been forced into?

By him...

A sigh of air escaped his throat. It all seemed so logical; there were plenty of reasons not to die... So why did it all still feel so wrong? Haiyashii finally let himself look at the manslayer when he heard him sigh into the silence. His eyes had that look again. 

"Himura? What is it?"

The hitokiri shook his head. "Thinking," he murmured.

The captain watched his brow flatten once again into the usual stark, pale makeup of security and decided not to press the matter further. It was an expression that he used often; one that had come to mean that the boy was hiding from him again. 

Even though the two men had spent so much time wandering the country together, conversation was not all that common, unless there was something to talk about. The two rurouni had a sort of understanding, a mutual comfort that took place during walking or eating, sleeping or preparing for bed; a knowing ease that required no words. But then, every so often, Himura would slip back into the recesses of his consciousness, and there would be those eyes again. And, normally following, the mask. 

Haiyashii could almost see a pocket in his gi that the boy must have reserved for the expression. 

Finally they reached the end of the winding hallway and came to rest at a sliding shoji screen door, painted with the kanji for freedom. Himura raised an eyebrow. 

Haiyashii gave a lopsided grin, spreading one hand before them. "Well? After you. 'The Master' is waiting, wouldn't want him to wet himself in anticipation like the last guy," he mocked good naturedly. Himura gave a slight smile, pulling his lips into a delicate curve, and nodded his appreciation for the attempted lightening of the mood. With a deep breath, he and the captain stepped inside.

The door gave way to reveal what appeared to be an office of sorts, were it not for the enormous piles of paper that concealed half the room from view, including the occupant behind the table. Himura and Haiyashii exchanged glances as a huge stack of white suddenly went flying and a high pitched and very girlish scream of frustration was heard. 

Himura cleared his throat and a very surly looking man with a mustache and uniform popped his head up over the lip of the desk. "What is it? I can't find the enrollment lists; give me a minute--"

"Uh, we're not really here for enrollment," the boy said, looking at the soldier like he had lost his mind. "We're here to ask a favor, Yamagata."

The man blinked like a mole just emerged from a three week dig. 

"Himura-kun? Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me."

Yamagata got up and brushed off his knees, watching the hitokiri like he was expecting him to dissolve into the floor, or blow up, or maybe do a magic trick. "It's really--? We all thought you were..." He took a few cautious steps forward, still slightly disbelieving. "How did you get here? Are you alright?" 

"I'm fine. My wounds healed up some time ago," Himura supplied, casting an uncertain glance in Haiyashii's direction. "The two of us have been on the road for a long while now. You remember Captain Haiyashii Kenji of the Aizu Squad, ne?"

"How could I forget?" he smiled, "You two were quite the pair on the battlefield. And as I understand it he's saved your life-- was it three times now?"

"Four. And I have yet to return the favor. You'd think I was crippled or something," Himura said, amusement twinkling in his eyes at Yamagata's reaction. He sobered quickly. "Anyway, Yamagata..."

"Ah yes, that favor. Himura-kun, you do realize that you're being ridiculous if you think we won't give you a job. You showed up at a very opportune time too, the staff has been short for police swordsman nowadays; we only just got things together here. You see this mess?" Yamagata waved a hand at the enormous room of papers. "These are all sign-up sheets. Potential allies, people who would like to help with the domestic affairs unit, people who want to join our armed forces... The list goes on. Most of these sheets are empty, so as you can see, we're a bit short handed... I'm so glad to see you back: I thought for sure I'd never see you again," he mused. "All these empty spaces; I'm sure we can find something suitable for someone with your experience, ne?"

"Wait a minute--," Haiyashii interrupted.

"--Yes, thank you, Yamagata," Himura interrupted back, stopping him with a look. "Tell me, would it be alright if I looked at the jobs and selected one for myself?"

"Of course, Himura-kun. Take your time; the new recruits aren't in 'till next month, so you can pick anything you'd like. After all you did for us it's the least we could do to repay you," the soldier said happily. "Finally, we've got some real help. This'll be wonderful!"

Himura and the captain exchanged knowing, bemused looks. 

This man didn't know what he was agreeing to just yet. 

~~~

The two men out front had exactly two seconds to straighten themselves and get their ears away from the crack between the doors before they burst open and Captain Haiyashii stepped out, holding the entrance open for the Battousai. 

With a final glance at the two men he stepped out into the scorching sun, spots dancing before his eyes like before. Haiyashii fell into step next to him. And as before, people scattered from their path like cockroaches.

"Look mommy, he's got a real sword! Can I have one mommy, please?"  
"What in the world do they think they're doing, do they want to get arrested--"

"I wonder where they're from--"

"Trouble, I tell ya, just trouble--"

"Ooh, he's cute." 

"Look at that hair, and those arms! Bet he's strong, too--" 

"Good body, I could lose a few hours with him." Himura turned bright red when he realized these comments were directed toward him, with no effort to conceal their voices. Giggles followed his sudden blush and he looked around to find a group of four girls waving and smiling at him shyly. 

His blush deepened when he realized where they were from.

"Um, let's go."

"Populaaaar," Haiyashii said nonchalantly, a smirk spreading across his face as he looked down a the red-faced boy. "Leaving so quickly, tsk tsk. One would think you meant to disappoint the ladies." 

Himura gave him a glare that would have sliced through a steel pole, but his blushing was almost purple now.   
_  
Dang it all, why does this always happen when we--  
_  
Suddenly a ki sprang up from the crowd.

"**DIE, BATTOUSAI!**"  
**_  
_**WHACK! THUMP.

There were a few screams then a sudden silence as the shocked crowd (and Haiyashii) tried to comprend what happened. A man lay with a large rip in his yellow gi, an enormous bruise forming on his back. 

The captain spotted a dagger discarded at his feet and knew instantly what had transpired. Here was one; where was the other? He looked around confusedly.

"Himura? Himura, where--"

Heads in the crowd were turned behind them toward the shop-filled street. A figure stood in attack stance, half-crouched next the the vending stalls. Haiyashii checked the distance and saw that he'd leaped about thirty feet away in one shot. The captain headed over to the manslayer at a trot, leaving the crowd behind.

Himura's sword wasn't drawn, but the saya had been pulled from his obi and the left side of his gi had managed to slide off, revealing a pale shoulder. The captain leaned down with his hands on his knees. "Any idea what that was about?"

Abruptly the boy gave a slight moan and fell to his stomach facedown, both hands clutching his middle. 

Haiyashii gave a startled cry and reached for him. "Himura?! Boy, you okay?"

He got no response other than a slight chuckle. 

"He didn't get you, did he?" the captain said uncertainly, turning him onto his back. The hitokiri looked up at him with a white-faced smile.

"Heh..._heh_ hhh... Stupid."

"You talking about him or yourself?" Haiyashii asked him with a raised eyebrow. "Here, let me take a look at you." The captain pulled open the front of Himura's gi, probing gently with two fingers. Slowly he worked his way down from the well-formed upper abdominal muscles to the lower stomach, right to left...

"Nn--" The boy quickly grabbed his hand and stopped him from moving further. (Take THAT, yaoi readers)  
  
Haiyashii froze.   
Then his gaze grew dark. 

"You told me this had healed."

Himura managed another grin, but winced when Haiyashii put his hand gently on the edges of the wound. "You can't keep doing this to me, Himura. You have to tell me when you're not well; I can't help you otherwise," he said sternly.

"It's nothing. I've lived through worse," he replied softly. "It's not like I don't have time to heal. This isn't fatal--"

"I know, I know; she told you. But if you aren't careful, you're gonna go early if she wants you to or not." He stared down at the hitokiri with a glare that said he wasn't just talking about an infection. Or, more specifically: 'I've got a something in the sleeve of my gi right now that says you're mortal, Mr. Invincible.'

Himura bit down on his lip as they rose together, the captain pulling Himura to his feet. After regaining his balance, the boy gave in. "Alright, Haiyashii. It's a promise. I'll tell you if something's wrong." The look of reassurance on his face told him he wasn't just talking about physical problems. "Anyway, right now I have some business to attend to at the local jinja. I'll be back just after sunset. I'll meet you for dinner." The hitokiri grinned lightly, then turned away toward the street. 

The captain stared at him shockedly, then smiled a real, full smile at the manslayer's back as he walked away toward the city shrine.   
_  
Maybe he does trust me after all._

~~~

Jeez, does it take long for me to update or what? 

I'm so sorry people, I've been so busy you wouldn't believe. It's abooouuut (checks) twelve forty-five now, so... I've had the first half of theis written for ages, but I wanted it to be longer for all you long suffering, loyal fans out there. And I got a little Kenshin babying started in only the second chapter! (As opposed to the original Rended where it starts right away...)

Oh well. If you liked it, have a suggestion or comment, or just want to see something, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze review. 

Jaa mina. 

And hey, maybe I'll draw that picture of Kenshinin attack stance with the shoulder of his gi off... (Drool) I'll bet I can get it on the net if Calger-sama will teach me how... ^_^X

Ahhhhhh... Fan services.

And hey, check out my other stories if this is your first. I need to know If they suck or not. And Rended is the original story before this, so please check that out before reading more of the sequel (this). 


	3. Fallen Visitation

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

**Chapter Three: A New Road**

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It sounded so easy when he first set out to do it, but now that the red gate was in sight, the boy wasn't sure if he could. Walking through the gate itself seemed a transgression.

The stone pathway glistened beneath his feet in evening dew: the remnants of rain that had yet to fall its last on the streets of Kyoto. Kenshin knew how many years it had been since he had traveled to this part of town. He also knew how many days, and how many hours. The time mattered not, however, when his knees began to shake with each step he took.

Her headstone would come into view any minute now, and his breath was thick with the strain of keeping his emotions steady. He took the last few steps toward the grave and stood frozen before it, studying the cobblestones almost against his will, his head refusing on its own to look up--

_'Anata...' _

_A gentle glance in his direction. _

_He knew she was smiling inside, even though it didn't show, and it warmed him._

It was the slight patter of a drop of rain on his neck that made him lift his eyes. The moment his gaze lit on the stone he found it obscured by drops of water, not rainwater this time, as he read the inscription.

The flame-haired boy knelt in silence, his left hand clenched around the hilt of his sword as though trying to hold on to some semblance of serenity in the face of bitter instability. He watched quietly as rain began to soak his skin and clothing, bringing the cold and heavy weight of the water.

_...Bloody rain..._

Kenshin clapped his hands together in succession, bowing his head as he knew to do, trying to follow what gods and tradition dictated in silence. But the more he tried to follow and school his mind into submission, the harder it became to retain the well-kept facade. Fragrant incense from one of the nearby graves filled his nostrils, and finally the shell was cracked as he pictured her face in his mind's eye.

It shattered almost instantly.

"Tomoe..."

The young man's hand went to his face, covering his eyes partly in shame and partly in such an utter despair that he felt it choking him. A sob was caught in his throat and he lurched forward, just barely catching himself before he hit the ground. His topknot fell from its constricting tie and fell about his shoulders, dripping with rain.

It was enough.

"Anata, I... I am trying. I _am_ doing what I told you I would, but... it's just," he choked, "it's just hard, sometimes..."

The rain filled the silence with a shower of falling stars as he tried to keep talking to her, each word an ache in his breast:

"You weren't supposed to be there that day. In the snow..." The boy's shoulders shook. "I... _I _should've-- I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't think like that, " he stammered quickly, realizing his train of thought just as it left his mouth. "I know, I-- I'm sorry..."

Kenshin's face crumpled, and the sob found voice.

"...I miss you, anata..."

The boy dropped his head to his knees, pulling himself into a ball on the freezing, wet cobblestones, tears mixing with sheets of rain: the water beneath him no less beautiful than that which hung in the shimmering evening sky.

_...I love you..._

A few hours later, as Kenshin hauled himself to his feet, his sword wilting toward the ground in his grasp, and slowly trudged away into the bleeding night, a presence in the graveyard made itself known to the darkness. The letters on the headstone sparkled at his back, slicked with rain and almost reaching for him in the faint light as he disappeared into the haze:

Himura Tomoe

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Are there no towels in this place?" Hayashii grumbled, rifling through the lower drawers of the cabinet. He'd just bathed and the cold was starting to get to him, due to the wind from the storm. It'd begun a few hours ago, while he was soaking, and actually it was much more relaxing to switch from steaming hot water to cold droplets, but now his wet hair was chilling him.

The room they'd been given was of average size and furnishing, but compared to the places he and Himura had slept for the past month, it was a palace. This did not mean, however, that Haiyashii was going to go without his towels. He was nearing fifty, after all.

"Time to take the initiative, I guess," he huffed to himself.

He dressed in his yukata, (which barely fit his broad frame and considerable paunch,) and made his way down the staircase at a relaxed pace. This was one of the most decadent luxuries he'd had in ages, and he intended to enjoy it in full. The government owed him that much after being trapped under a pile of bodies for hours, anyway. That battle still gave him nightmares, not to mention what had followed.

_Damn boy keeps accusing me of scaring _him_... What about me? These gray hairs weren't here before I met you, Himura,_ he thought grumpily.

The cooks were hard at work from the smell of it, and his mouth began to water at the scent of roasting vegetables and piping hot soups. He could really go for one of those udon bowls he knew they were making. Maybe three.

Haiyashii poked his head out from behind the wall as he came to the main floor and made a beeline for the dining rooms, fully intending to stuff himself and go to bed uncomfortably full. He sniffed contentedly as the door came closer and closer, the handle in his grasp.

_Ahh... They have fish broth too, not that weird root we had to use on the road--_

"Thanks again, Yuki, that was--"

Without warning, the door slid open and a man walked straight into him, bowling him over onto his backside and landing on top of him with a yelp.

Haiyashii would have sighed, had the breath not nearly been knocked out of him.

_Is there no rest for the weary?_

The yukata-clad man on his stomach scrabbled to get off of him, simultaneously trying to help him up and making a general mess of things.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir--"

Hayashii snarled in annoyance, waving the man's hands off him. "Watch where you're going, you little runt; that could've..." Abruptly he blinked in mid-reprimand.

"...Inoue?"

A pair of dark brown eyes peered up at him from where the man sat, practically in his lap.

"Captain?"

Hayashii was indeed confronted with his former underling from the Aizu squad.

"Inoue!" the man roared, wrapping both arms around him and squeezing the living daylights out of him with a bear hug as he struggled.

"Captain-- can't breathe--" the skinny man gasped out.

"Oh, sorry," Hayashii apologized sheepishly. He sat up and let the former soldier rise to his feet, obviously pleased to find him still alive. He was indecently happy to see him; it'd been far too long since he had seen any of his men from the war (or anyone willing to speak to him about it.) Hayashii began interrogating him jovially. "What happened to you after we separated? When did you get here?"

"Well, um, a few days ago," Inoue scratched his head, obviously pleased as well but trying not to show it. "I basically ran and hid after you saw me. After all, the Shinsengumi were after me too, being involved and all." The smaller man motioned that they enter the dining room while they talked, and he held the door for him. "There wasn't much to the hiding part, but conscience tends to catch up with you. I went into battle for the Ishin Shishi shortly before you did, apparently about a month or so. I survived, wandered a bit, and realized my best chances for employment lay here. Spent most of the battle sneaking around the sidelines, though," he finished embarrassedly.

"Well I'm more than glad you did," Hayashii told him, sitting on the tatami in seiza in one motion. "I can't tell you how nice it was to see a familiar living face. Aside from Himura I don't see many friends these days; makes me wonder if they're still out there."

Inoue looked slightly surprised. "You're still traveling with Battousai?"

"His name is Himura, Inoue."

"Oh, right," Inoue assented, acknowledging the misstep. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Hayashii reassured him. "There's not much to it except that's what he prefers. It's hard to insult him these days... Matter of fact it's hard to get him to react to anything at all," he muttered.

"He's doing well?" Inoue poured a cup of tea for his former senpai, pushing it towards him on the tabletop.

"As well as can be expected. I had to play a bit of a nursemaid after the last stunt he pulled," remarked Hayashii, accepting the cup. "He tried gutting himself after the final battle, believing it was in reparation. I had a time fixing him up after that, let me tell you."

Inoue stared at him.

"He tried to commit seppuku?"

Hayashii nodded grimly. "I'll never know what made him miss, but I found him in the field with his sword stuck through his side. He told me he deserved it, that he needed to pay for what he'd done." The former captain gazed into the depths of his teacup, watching his reflection in the liquid.

Inoue took a sip from his cup and laid it on the table carefully. "Why _didn't_ he make himself pay for it, in the end?" he inquired. His tone was more rhetorical than accusatory.

Hayashii looked up at him.

"...He is paying for it."

The two men were somber for a while, drinking tea in silence while a few customers entered and left, carrying noodle bowls. The waitress had just deposited a bowl of broth in front of Hayashii when a loud bang came from the direction of the front gates. Hayashii and Inoue listened, the bigger man preparing his chopsticks as a pair of voices came lilting from the lobby through the shoji doors:

"Sir, are you all right? Do you need to... oh, my--"

"Himura-san? What--"

Hayashii dropped the bowl and rushed to the door, swishing it fulling open and running into the front foyer. He found a pair of servants huddled around a figure dripping with rain and leaning on a sword for support. The bigger man practically flung the two people to the wayside.

"Himura? Himura, what happened?" he barked out, glancing quickly over his bent form.

When he received no answer from the boy, Hayashii picked him up, sword and all, and headed for the dining hall. He could hear the former manslayer's ragged breathing and felt him shivering through the thin gi. He appeared unhurt, but Hayashii could guess from the water dripping onto the floor that he'd been caught in the rainstorm; for how long, he had no idea. If he was soaking, perhaps the aggravated wound had opened.

Inoue stood up swiftly as they entered, a shocked expression opening his mouth in an 'o'.

"Give me a blanket, please, and a cup of hot tea," Hayashii requested of him, and Inoue nodded before running off. The big man sat Kenshin down before the fireplace where two tea kettles were warming, rubbing the boy's arms for warmth and trying to get his attention.

"Himura?" pressed Hayashii. "Boy, look at me. You okay?"

Kenshin's eyes were vacant, but a small sliver of recognition slit through the fog as he met the older man's gaze.

"Hayashii," he murmured.

"Where did you go?" Hayashii questioned, flinging a blanket over his shoulders and tugging him into his lap. "I thought you said you were going the shrine and coming back for dinner. Mattaku, it's only down the block!."

"...I went to see her," he said in a whisper, finally _looking_ at the larger man. His gaze was filled with wonder, but a single tear went unnoticed down his cheek. It was channeled by the scar marking his face. "I went to see her."

Hayashii's lips compressed into a thin line as he realized what had transpired. He put an arm around the boy's thin shoulders and pulled him close.

"She was happy you came," Hayashii assured him gently. "I know she was."

He tucked the boy's head beneath his chin to still his shivering, wrapping the blanket tighter around him and poking the fire to build the heat. Inoue entered just as Kenshin uttered his soft response:

"...Does she really want me to live...?"

The room went silent. Inoue stared, his teacup tilting and spilling a little onto the floor. The few patrons busied themselves with their food, trying to appear as though they hadn't heard. A waitress chose that moment to dart back into the kitchen, mumbling something about getting the soups.

Hayashii blanched. "Himura?" he said softly.

"Is this really how I'm supposed to do this?" The boy's voice was hoarse, raw with cold and emotion. "Was I wrong in my choice? Does she want me to try to carry this weight?"

"I believe she would say so," the bigger man answered finally.

Hayashii let him mull it over for awhile, watching intently as Kenshin's expression slowly changed.

"...I'm sorry," he murmured tiredly, leaning against him with a sigh. "'M just tired... 'S... harder to think... when 'm... tired..."

After a few moments, Hayashii felt his body relax fully in his arms, his breath evening in the rhythm of sleep, and the boy was out like a light. Hayashii smiled as Kenshin nugded his wrist as he slept, reminding him of a child fidgeting in a dream.

"Oyasumi, boy," the former captain breathed with a smile, stroking his flame-colored hair.

Inoue simply stared from his spot on the floor, unbelieving of the change in manner the boy seemed to have on his former commanding officer. For a little while he was fine, rocking the boy like a baby, muttering to him in a fatherly fashion.

The next second, Inoue was startled when the man spasmed so sharply that he nearly dropped the sleeping manslayer.

Inoue reached for him with a worried cry. "Captain?!"

He was shaking, eyes wide, a heavy sweat breaking out across his forehead. Something had gotten him, that was certain. He looked as if he had seen the proverbial ghost.

"Captain, what's the matter?" Inoue urged him. Hayashii looked at him as if he were a foreign object.

"N... nothing," he managed. Before his eyes, however the image still lingered, along with voices that had once been as close as the boy was now:

_The feel of soft hair beneath his fingers, a light breath on his shoulder, the weight of a child._

_"Tou-san!"_

_"Ne, Tou-chan, can we hear a story tonight?"_

_"Yeah, can we?"_

_"No, not tonight; you'll have nightmares."_

_"Pleeeease, Tou-san? I'll put Sei-chan to sleep myself tomorrow--"_

_"What? Who are you?! What are doing here-- AGH!"_

_"Mika, get the children--"_

_"Tou-chan!"_

_**"TOU-SAN!"**_

"Captain, are you sure you're all right?"

Hayashii was snapped back to reality when Inoue's face was inches from his own. Kenshin still lay sleeping in his arms, looking very young and very innocent, despite how much blood remained on his hands (in his own eyes at least.) It wasn't fair to him. The former captain watched the boy sleep; how his breath stirred the cloth of the blanket, how smooth and peaceful his face remained in rest: different from the stoic, protective mask he was forced to don in daylight.

"...Can we be forgiven for our deeds?" Hayashii wondered aloud.

"Can we forgive ourselves, Inoue...?"

The man was silent.

Hayashii looked down at the sword the boy had brought with him, not giving it much thought at first glance, but then something gleamed at him from the hilt, and his complete attention went to the inch of bare metal that was made visible when he'd lifted the former manslayer into his arms:

A bright gleam came from the edge of the blade that faced him-- the edge that, on most swords, was flat and dulled.

Hayashii could have grinned, had he not still been shaking.

The boy had obtained a reverse-bladed sword.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

See there? SEE THERE?! I CAN update a fic I haven't touched in years! I HAVEN'T GIVEN UP ON THEM-- STICK WITH ME!

More will-- WILL-- follow. See you soon readers.

Want more fanfiction crack? Review.


	4. Find Your Way Home

NOTE

Well, I am BACK baby! YOW! Thanks to ALL of you who have stayed true throughout the years and waited for this darned update. You deserve a break. XD

For many reasons I have returned, but for one great one is decided to-- last year in 2009, the ff dot net community has lost one of its most amazing RuroKen writers.

I decided to write this chapter in memory of HakuBaikou, the writer of "A Sea of Troubles", an amazing fic which, sadly, will never be completed. We lost her in a car accident but according to her sister's deviantart post, she was in no pain and she was always very happy to talk to fans, writers and artists alike in her online sites. She will be sorely missed. Please look up her work and read/enjoy it, she was an AMAZING artist as well.

Go to /~hakubaikou/

Her deviantart account is listed on her profile page.

Rest in peace, Hakubaikou-san.

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o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

**CHAPTER FOUR: Find Your Way Home (to the White Plum Garden)**

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

o-0-o

Morning broke gently, unlike the ending to the previous night, which had was fraught with storms and wind. Sunlight was flickering over the rice paper screens in the wanderers' second story room, illuminating the futon and tatami mats in patches, glowing like a natural lamp to light the morning-- altogether a complete reversal of the former day's events.

A few threads of brilliant red were reaching out in a swirl from the bed coverings: a trail that led back to their owner, still sleeping in a meadow of soft white sheets. In contrast, two black streaks marred the tatami floor with their presence, one shorter than the other, a pale hand from the same covers wrapped securely around the longer sheath.

Himura's daisho swords.

_The boy never could sleep without them..._

The new sword was beautifully worked, not a flaw to be found. The former hitokiri had been quick to take advantage of their familiar surroundings; he must have sent the order for such a weapon months ago.

Himura had finally been carried to their shared quarters once the captain found his legs. It had been no small feat; his unexplained scare had rocked him hard, not a common occurrence at this point in his life. Many decades had gone by without the sudden panic attacks of his youth, although the people involved were always on his mind.

Light had come a while ago; the younger swordsman had been asleep for well over eight hours now, but the peace on his face was not something Hayashii had been willing to break.

_Finally _one_ night at least, when he can sleep without waking up screaming... I guess she can still bring him peace even in death._

Hayashii's large, rotund form was still situated outside of his resting place, one hand idly stroking his beard. His brown eyes were heavy and dark; he hadn't slept all night, familiar faces and voices calling to him every time he'd shut his eyes. Inoue had finally left him alone a fews hours past midnight, but not until he was certain his former captain was all right. Hayashii didn't know it, but a trip to the sake shop was the only solace Inoue had found that evening as well.

Kyoto was a volatile mistress-- pleasurable for some, capable of breaking others.

_Maybe I shouldn't have brought him here so soon. He did say he wanted to see the rest of the country-- maybe wandering _away_ from this place would have been a good change_. Hayashii's mind brought up the same argument that had plagued him all night, resting his tired head against his hand to gaze at the brightly lit window. _But there is that pesky money issue... Wandering is no good if we starve right out of the gate_.

A soft breath from beside him brought the older man's eyes to where his friend lay, still snoozing beneath heavy covers and tousled red bangs.

_Damn it, Himura-- why do you have to look so young when you sleep? Just like..._

"_Sh-Shishou. Master...n... _Hayashii?" came a soft murmur.

The sound startled the greying captain out of his nostalgia. _Master? Where did that come from?_

"Awake already?" he smiled, recovering quickly. "I would have thought you'd need until at least noon."

The fiery head shook slowly from side to side on the pillow. "No... I'll sleep 'til tomorrow and never wake up." That came out lightly, but it still struck Hayashii in just the right place. The former manslayer must have seen this on his face; he rose quickly, sitting up and casting the blankets down to his waist. Had he not been so worried, Kenshin probably would have blushed at the fact that he was practically naked, save for the yukata that was little more than a loincloth now.

_I must have been soaking last night; I'm still cold_.

He hoped his wound mixed with exposure from last night's rain wouldn't make him ill. Hayashii looked like he needed no more stress from his end. Himura vaguely remembered something from when he'd been sleeping that made him frown.

"Were you-- all right last night? I felt like..." the boy trailed off, not sure what he wanted to say.

"Oh, you know me," Hayashii teased. "People my age are always 'all right'. Nothing happens to us until we're eighty, and I'm far yet from eighty."

Himura raised an eyebrow.

"At any rate, let's get some food into you. I have rice and soup here. Didn't know what you wanted in terms of fish though; you'll have to get that yourself."

The red-haired teen watched him critically as he prepared a bowl of rice for him. Something was definitely not right, but Himura knew more than anyone the value of privacy in personal matters. _If he's really in trouble he'll tell me. Until then I should probably let him deal with whatever it is. I know I wouldn't want that kind of intrusion_.

He accepted the bowl of miso and his rice, depositing them onto a tray at his side with a small 'thank you'. When the chopsticks came, Himura found himself face-to-face with the captain, who'd refused to release them and pulled the boy forward slightly.

"If you ever do something like that again, I'll murder you," he said lightly, completely deadpan.

Himura blinked. "What?"

"Staying out in the rain and cold like that-- you know better than to push yourself with a wound like that," Hayashii chided him. "If I ever find you out there like that again, I don't car who's watching; I'll drag you in by your topknot. Understood?"

Himura's eyes were wide and confused. "Uh... yes?"

"Good. Now let's get you started on that job of yours."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The headquarters were quite different now that the war was over. Nothing lay in secrecy anymore, the flags flew cheekily above the markedly different doors, and inside the decor had also changed. The fine wood furnishings and highly polished floors in western style had a certain pompousness to them, an unfamiliarity that seemed to have taken over the capital city as of late.

_Katsura would never have tolerated such opulence_.

Kenshin had washed and dressed, taking a new white gi and tabi with his usual grey hakama and neatly gathering his long hair into a semblance of order. He'd seen the flame-coloured toknot streaking down his shoulder too many times as it fell into his face from above, all too often accompanied with the bloodied body of a 'target' at his feet. The fighting was over, and so the time for that tradition should also go, he decided. Instead of the high samurai knot at the top of his head, he tied it low, at the base of his neck. A strange feeling, but comforting somehow.

Change was good, but difficult. For almost a half-hour he'd sat staring at his daisho, the katana and smaller wakizashi having accompanied him for so long. He'd finally opted to leave the katana and keep the shorter blade, knowing that if he was attacked and it came to close range, he did have Tomoe's tanto.

No. The thought chilled him; he'd _never _use it for that.

Despite the cold from the previous evening, he felt more alert and capable than he'd been before. The attempted assassination from yesterday had barely been avoided; the manslayer had almost reverted to more familiar methods of defeating foes. He'd barely caught the blow in time, and berated himself for it. That could have undone Tomoe's gift entirely. Himura's jaw tightened.

That would not happen again.

Finally, the boy reached Yamagata's office, without incident, he'd noted. There'd been no one in the halls or doorways; he must have slept later than he thought.

The door opened to a scene slightly less haggard than the first time he'd entered. Piles of papers had turned into stacks, furniture was visible, and now several young men were helping with organization. Yamagata was hard at work mailing off sign-up sheets and rosters, sending delivery boys off with important papers that he'd probably been working on all night and making sure military personnel were directed to the correct addresses.

_He always did have a knack for giving orders with a smile. I don't know how he manages. I'd never be able to handle so many people_. He winced inwardly at the use of the word 'handle'.

_Well, I guess technically I could_.

Yamagata's face brightened considerably at the appearance of the red-headed swordsman, despite his disheveled appearance. His government issue jacket was unbuttoned at the top, his hat lopsided, but he did seem much less frazzled.

"Himura-san! Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you," Kenshin bowed his head slightly. "I thought I'd come and sign in for my position." He handed him the papers they'd taken the previous day.

"Wonderful! I can't tell you how nice it will be to finally have a--"

Yamagata froze as his eyes found the position to be filled. He raised his gaze to Himura's impassive face.

"...a servant?"

Himura didn't move, eyes fixed on the far wall. "I have no desire to go back to the way things were, Yamagata. It would be too easy for me to... make a mistake... to injure a student, even to--" he cut himself off. "I will not return to that again. I made a promise."

Yamagata looked like he wanted to say more, but restrained himself. "I understand," he said finally. "But, I will warn you. This will be hard for most people to take. Not to be insulting, but-- not many soldiers expect to be served their evening meal by Battousai. They'd probably lose their nerve and go hungry rather than see you in their room."

Himura's expression was stricken. He hadn't really thought about that. "I don't... I don't want to be any trouble, but I do need to work somehow. I don't think any other establishment in Kyoto would take me," he murmured, half to himself.

Seeing the hurt on the boy's face, the older man was quick to make amends. "I'm sure we can find you a position that doesn't involve you meeting with our military men," he reassured him, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Perhaps you can help with preparation of meals, or maybe laundering? I know our current head of household staff is very short handed."

The former manslayer nodded, his eyes still dark, deep in thought as Yamagata prepped his new daily agenda.

_This will never work. If the soldiers can't handle my presence, then how will the maids?_

Perhaps he'd been right. There was no place for him here.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Yuki was having a very hard day.

As mistress of the facility, it was her job to make sure all household endeavors went smoothly-- the preparing of meals, the cleaning of linens and laundries, the tidying of all rooms and common areas, and most particularly the upkeep of furnishings.

Due to the newly established status of their grounds, however, the woman had to start from scratch, and nothing was going right.

So far, two of her girls had left, one running off with a_ man_ no less, two of her new girls had either broken crockery or ruined a pot of soup by putting cleaning stuffs into it, three laundry bags were missing and one of the repair jobs on a nobleman's gi had gone very wrong; there was now a sort of spider web pattern attached to the sleeve. Yuki was furious.

_Confound it all! I told them to close the rip, not make it into a jinbei! (1)_

"Kanna-chan! I told you to close the blinds when you're washing, and for the last time, DO not leave the pot unwatched!" Yuki screeched toward the noren leading into the courtyard where the girl was presumably doing the laundry she'd failed at earlier. "And get the rice ready for lunch! Everyone is going to go hungry and then they'll all be after my neck!"

As she yelled, she'd turned around with gusto, body facing the opposite direction, head swiveled back toward the outer door-- leaving her totally unprepared for coming face to face with a complete stranger.

"KYAA!"

A flash of reddish brown and white was all she saw before she felt her balance go and her feet went sliding out from under her, tabi slipping on the polished floor as if it were oiled. She tried to catch herself, arms flailing, body bending backwards in an arc from her wild outburst, sleeves tangling and blocking her view-- and then she felt the heat of the fire behind her.

She was going to fall right into the boiling pot!

A shriek welled in her throat, her heart pounding as she realized her tenuous balance wasn't going to hold. Just as the heat became painful, she felt a hand grab onto her clothing and yank her back up, flinging her into an opposing arm and stabilizing her a good distance away from the steaming iron cauldron. Her blood slammed away in her ears, a canvas of beating, pounding noise that almost blacked out her vision before she remembered how to breathe.

All of it had happened in an instant.

"_Haa-- haa-- oh my-- oh, my--_"

She was shivering in shock as her lungs caught up. A strand or two of jet black hair tickled her nose, having fallen from its elaborate styling atop her head, kimono slightly askew. Abruptly she knew that she lay half supported in the arms of the man who had made her fall in the first place. Fear triggered anger and she gave a short cry. Yuki looked up, mouth open and ready, full well intending to give him a thorough scolding...

...and stopped.

Whatever she'd been expecting was definitely not what she got as she took in her rescuer.

A handsome, young face with a bandage on its left cheek gazed down at her with soft eyes, slightly concerned and glowing in the sunlight, a light lavender hue. Shockingly red hair fell neatly about his face and the striking features made her blush without knowing it, mere inches from her face. The man was a boy, probably no more than seventeen, with gorgeous eyes and a face that, while beautiful, held an intensity and sadness that drew her in like a fish in a net.

She had apparently been staring open mouthed a little too long; the boy blinked and averted his eyes nervously, releasing her slowly to the floor and bowing quickly, putting a few feet of distance between them as he spoke.

"I am quite sorry-- I didn't mean to make you fall."

The youth in his tone made her start. He couldn't have been more than fifteen with a voice like that, a mere child. A child with the eyes of a man...

"...ah."

_Oh yes, very clever Yuki-- say something else! _

"Well, that's-- fine. No, I-- should have been more careful--"

"I was hoping to find Matsumoto Yuki-san," the teen explained, keeping his head down and his eyes on the floor. "I am supposed to start work with her today and I got a little lost. I am assuming this is the kitchen?"

"Well-- yes." _This is the person they've sent?_ "We uh, have been very short-handed, so no one was watching the food. I'm Matsumoto. Just call me Yuki," the woman said subduedly, embarrassed by her slip and still very flustered. "I heard someone was coming, I just wasn't sure when. Are you sure you're-- uh-- going to be satisfied doing this kind of labor?" Most men would rather be caught dead than performing most of these womanly tasks.

"After the last few years, it will be a blessing, Yuki-dono."

That caught her unaware. The tone he'd used rang of too much experience with past horrors, things he'd much rather forget. The mistress of domestics was almost startled into action by his eyes-- unspeakably dark, then abruptly veiled and proper once again. _A boy like that in the ranks... must have been terrible at that age._

"I... see. We can start you today, if you'd like." Brown eyes studied him carefully. "You know how to do basic laundering, I assume? We can start some kitchen duties later and keep you outdoors for a while. _Ii desu ka? _Is that all right?"

A concerned flicker went through the lavender of the boy's eyes. "How... visible... would I be to passersby in the courtyard?"

_Of course-- he_ is _worried about other men seeing him work such a feminine job_.

"There's a fence that keeps the courtyard private, and shoji to block the tenants and other guests from seeing the laborers," she reassured him, a little of her former confidence returning at the teenage uncertainty on the redhead's face. "I've had enough problems having my girls run off with a handsome young man they've been looking at for a while, and it keeps the garden looking neat."

"Sou desu ka... Then, I have no problem working anything you wish to assign me." Relief was evident in his reply.

"All right, then. We'll get you set up and I'll teach you the daily schedules. I hope you don't mind being an early riser." As Yuki led the boy outside, she felt something in her gut that suggested this new worker would be a nice change from the incompetence she'd already had to deal with. "We have a set of lines already up, and--" Looking behind her, Yuki saw the boy had paused just before exiting. He was staring at something just inside the door that she couldn't see from her vantage point.

"Something wrong?"

"..._Iya_. No."

His look was so captivated she almost walked back to see what was so mesmerizing. All she could remember being on that shelf was a vase of ikebana, flower arrangement. Purple irises had bloomed that week, so she had taken quick advantage before the blossoms faded.

"Well, then-- shall we... start?"

He snapped himself alert and Yuk physically flinched at the change. The young man was almost cold.

"Yes. Please continue."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_How am I supposed to do this? I can't function if I can't stop thinking of the past... Damn you, Haiyashii, why are we here?!_

Kenshin barely heard any of what the middle-aged woman in front of him had to say. Her back was to him and they walked through the courtyard past well-kept flowers, a small pond with a wooden bridge and the large bonsai willow draping over it. Dark patches of moss framed the path they followed, and he was totally absorbed by his thoughts as they moved through the trimmed, shaped foliage past the partition.

_Just keep your hands moving. You did when you had to kill, you can do it now that it's just menial labor. Do the work, see the results, be happy with it. There's no other way to do this. Just keep moving_.

"...and we'll break for meals around that same time. It's a lot, I know, but if you have questions, you can ask one of the gardeners or serving girls to fill you in."

He had missed everything. _Wonderful._

"Is it all right if I leave you to things? I need to check on the girls and make sure they aren't doing anything stupid. You'd be surprised how hard it is to get good help around here," Yuki griped.

The redhead actually managed a smile. "That's fine. I can take over from here."

Yuki glanced at him for a moment, then inclined her head and left with a little wave. "See you in a few hours."

The mistress of the grounds was obviously intimidated by him, by his strange looks, but she covered well. He appreciated her effort to keep things comfortable between them, especially considering their awkward start. At least it was better than most of Kyoto's population to his presence.

With Yuki gone, he finally felt free enough to chance a real look around. It was beautiful here. At least he'd be working in a serene setting, mostly to himself. Had there been a garden at the inn back where he and Katsura had stayed, before the burning? He couldn't remember, and being unable to recall made him feel cold. It hadn't been a relevant detail then.

A koi flicked its golden tail out of the water, causing the sound of water droplets to echo lightly against the stones.

_Did she notice beauty like this back then, in our courtyard?_

A vision of Tomoe working with her ikebana across the courtyard came back to him, back when she was still a maid, before they had been close. He almost started at the realization that the memory did not hurt.

_Let's go home, anata_.

His heart ached, but at the same time, watching the willow that grazed the surface of the pond, he felt safe. Comforted. The sheets drying on the lines billowed out softly away from him, filling with wind as his hair drifted away from his face, revealing pale skin.

_I will protect you_.

Eyes the color of wisteria were soft with thought. "Will I ever be able to go home, _anata_?"

The flick of koi under the water was his only reply.

~0~

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

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(1) A jinbei is a wrap shirt and short trousers, light for summer and sleepwear, usually having partially detached sleeves held together with woven cord, leaving space for cool air to come in.

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Okay, news for those of you who haven't heard-- which is all of you-- I'm pregnant! ^^ My husband and I are expecting our first child, a little girl. OMG she's active; I keep telling my husband it's not my side of the family doing back-axe kicks to my ribs in there. XD I'm 6 months now, due in May, the week after finals. Crud.

I've asked all the other college moms and they said "Ahyuk! Yeah, I was due the 'week after finals' too. Like that actually happened." XD XD Ah well. If all goes well I'll be graduated and in Japan by January '11. Wish us luck everyone! I'm sure living in Nippon will make me want to write more of these period style fics, and hopefully give me more time.

Wish us luck, everybody! And you might just get more chappies. Next up: Strength and Weakness! BUAHA. Love you all!

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	5. Absent Minds and Missing Pieces

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**CHAPTER 5 : Absent Minds and Missing Pieces**

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Yuki had been followed all day by a little cloud of memories that led back to her new male handyman.

Little details like the pauses he'd made in speaking with her, the exact color of his hair, the sadness in his eyes: everything was running circles in her mind to the point that she couldn't even remember if she'd remembered to peel the daikon radish for dinner. As a result, she'd found three piles of paper-thin daikon slices swirling on the chopping board like blossoms- two too many to be used that night, and now they'd most likely have to be thrown out.

The caretaker shook her head, sending strings of black bangs swishing back and forth as she went for a waste bin. _Damn it to the depths, Yuki. Do your job! He's a just a boy, and you are no blushing schoolgirl!_

"...I mean, he makes all of them act like blushing schoolgirls! What does he expect to get done down there with the kitchen maids? He's a warrior, not a house cleaner!"

Yuki stopped piling the scraps into a waste basket, eyes wide as she caught the words of three men who had just walked by the covered entryway.

_Warrior?_

As a busy, mature, well-bred housekeeper, Ms. Matsumoto was not the type to eavesdrop, but there was no way that the trio was talking about anyone other than the red-haired mystery she'd been trying to unravel all day. The woman hunkered down behind her deep blue noren curtains and tried not to let her paring knife clack on the wooden tray as she gently laid it down. Yuki turned toward the hall, straining to catch their exchange over the din of wooden cooking utensils preparing dinner behind her in the recesses of kitchen:

"Come now, Yamagata-san, he's dealing with a lot right now. You know what this city does to him, you saw him the other night. I'd say it's dubious that nine of every ten street corners in Kyoto doesn't house his victim's spirits."

Yuki's thoughts froze into a viscous, sludgy lump in her head. They weren't talking about...?

A heavy sigh from Yamagata. "I know. But I just don't know if he can survive in a place like this. Look, as much as I want his help with our soldiers, if he does fight, it will come from patient, reasonable discourse, not the threat of discharge. Do you want a young man like that on the street, starving with the rest of the beggars when he could be making us the strongest fighting force in the country?"

"No. And you're right, we can't force anything on him. He's torn up but good. If he heals well, he might still be able to fight for us in the future."

"Did you ever see how he avoids that bridge to the east?" a slightly falsetto-voiced man wheedled. "They say he killed fifteen- _fifteen_ of the Shinsengumi by himself on that bridge a year ago. One man even begged for his life, because of his son, and they say he put a blade through his throat. _Sasuga hitokiri. _Talk about living up to the name of 'manslayer'_._"

Yuki felt ill. The blood left her face as though fleeing from the impending truth, leaving her white and nauseous as they continued:

"And that teahouse by the stream-"

"That's _enough_," Yamagata growled angrily, eyes flashing. "The last thing he needs is more gossip being spread while he tries to scrape by here with us. You call them victims, but he basically allowed us to win this war single-handedly. I don't hear you complaining about the lives of the men you fought on the battlefield, Shizuoka. How many did he kill for you?" The man swallowed audibly as Yamagata lowered his voice.

"You keep your thoughts to yourself, or you'll be spending your days doing dishes next to Hitokiri Battousai. _Do you understand?_"

Yuki's mouth dropped open. Her hand fell limp from the doorframe.

The red hair. The bandage over his face.

_Oh my God_.

The woman remembered the cold darkness that had touched his eyes as she'd shown him around and it all fell into place. Not wanting to be seen, the swiftness with which he had moved...

The young man currently serving as house hand in their garden was the infamous hitokiri.

Battousai the Manslayer.

A piece of crockery was knocked from the shelf to her left as she staggered backward, trying to remain upright. The voices stopped. _Shimatta!_ Damn it! She knew the men had heard; the muffled sound of tabi-clad feet on the floorboards was fast approaching her. Her heart went up and practically out her throat in her panic. Would they kill her now that she knew? Would they make her mute to keep his secret? Would they exile her and demand her resignation? None of the possibilities that sprang to mind seemed palatable.

What she didn't expect was Yamagata's face poking through the noren, eyes full of concern and apology as he looked around the small shelf-ridden room.

"Matsumoto-san, are you all right?"

She fought for a brief semblance of composure. "I- yes, I-"

"You heard, didn't you," he stated with a sigh. His voice was more apologetic than full of blame, as she'd imagined it would be. "I had hoped I could brief you tonight, after you'd had your first impressions of him. May we speak after dinner?"

Yuki sat and stared, trying to piece together the idea that she might not be strung up like a scarecrow in the yard after all.

"Uh... Why yes. Of course. After dinner."

"Good," Yamagata sighed. "And, please don't mention this to anyone else. At least until after we have our meeting? There are... a few details you should know if you are going to work with Himura."

"...Uh. Yes...?"

"Thank you, Matsumoto-san. Oh, and I'll be looking forward to that _niku-jaga_ of yours. You always get the sauce just right." He winked at her, an odd motion that made his whole face twitch comically. "Jaa, until then."

Yuki sat staring at the little bleached white fish swimming in circles on the dark _noren_ curtains where Yamagata's face had been, trying to convince her pulse to head back down to a normal, healthy level. The fish stared stupidly back at her, waving back and forth a little in the leftover motion of the officer's departure. She inhaled deeply and blew a portion of the stress out on her breath, counting the seconds.

_Only one full day with this Battousai, and I've already had half my remaining years scared out of me... I had better ask for a raise in pay. _

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Scrub. Soak. Grind. Polish. Scrub. Soak. Grind. Polish.

They were all mindless actions, but just as skilled as if he'd had all of his full attention on them. The shine returned to the blades almost as if by magic, half of the kitchen stock finished in under a half hour. Himura's _Shishou_, his master, had taught him far too well how to care for a sword. Knives that were tools for chopping and skinning weren't much different.

The sleeves of his gi tied securely with a lengthy strip of cloth, Himura had taken over his list of duties with much more ease than he'd expected of himself. There were only a few moments when he'd faltered, remembering a time when he'd cut wood or pulled weeds in a place far away from the kitchen gardens in which he now knelt, with a pomegranate tree standing outside and sun blazing down on the roof of the farm house. It was just a small pause, no harm done. But he did wish that he hadn't stopped. He had lost a full two minutes of cooking time for the servants attending to dinner preparations.

The boy continued sharpening a single carving knife with swift, deft strokes.

_Too slow_..._ You can do better._

The perfection expected of him by his master was only surpassed by Himura's expectations of himself. After all, it wasn't the level of skill or accomplishment in others' eyes that mattered. It was the raising of one's own levels according to their ability. Wasn't it? That line of thought wound round and round his head until it traced the shape of a small redheaded child, beating a stick against a thick-trunked tree deep into the night, polishing piles of blades until sun-up and carrying heavy jugs of clay and sake miles back up the mountain to his teacher.

At the time, he'd thought the work meaningless and deliberately difficult, and he'd resented it, but later he'd learned that this carefully planned hardship was so that his capability and strength were built up without his knowledge. That was _Shishou_'s way, he knew: to care without ever letting him know it directly. He still felt badly about the way things had ended between them, but he'd had to help, he'd had to be near other people...

People. People who hated, people who killed, people who murdered women and children and didn't think anything of it but the gold jingling in their pockets.

People who robbed others of those they loved.

"Agh!"

With a start, Himura realised he'd brought the polishing cloth too far down onto the blade and sliced his hand from the base knuckle of his index finger to the heel of his palm. He looked at it in surprise. It had been a while since he'd cut himself out of carelessness.

A long while.

He lifted a hand to the bandage on his face, automatically, unwittingly: a reflex a year or so in the making, covering his cheek.

This was just proof of what he'd known all along. Without other people to occupy his mind or his efforts, he would not last long in this place, nor perhaps in this world. Who now would be the _saya_ sheath to stop his own mind from turning its cold, sharp steel onto himself again? With a sharp pang of emptiness, he wished Hayashii was there. The older man always seemed to help his mood and his misgivings, and the memories were less like vivid tortures and more like simple facts when he was around...

'_Anata, you're bleeding again..._'

Himura started a second time when a clopping sound came from the kitchen door.

Someone was tapping a pair of zori sandals onto his or her feet, parting the noren to enter the small garden as the last of the sun faded behind bamboo walls. The light was hinting at soft purples and blues now; how much time had gone by since he'd started polishing? He saw Yuki-san stumble out into the clearing of the courtyard as if tipsy, or perhaps shellshocked, and stepped toward his newly alotted cleaning area.

The moment she cleared the bushes and his face lifted toward her, she went deathly still.

It was only then that Himura realized the hand that had touched the bandage was the one he'd flayed open, leaving a stark bloody line across his face in an outward copy of what lay beneath it. All that was missing was Tomoe's line, and it would have been pointless to wear the patch at all. To add to the image, crouched next to a long mat covered in various blades, he still bore the giant carving knife in his uninjured hand, and a thin line of black-red blood trimmed its edge.

More than that, he could see from her eyes that she knew. She knew exactly what he was.

His heart lurched in his chest, and he dropped the knife, letting it fall to the tatami as useless as he felt right at that moment. It was over. They'd have to leave again. Just like every other town after the eventual two or three months. Hayashii would once again be uprooted because of him, and they'd be without a home or a life.

He fought back the lump gathering more and more mass in his throat.

_I knew that it was pointless to try._

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Yuki had figured she'd make the best of the hour or so left before her meeting with Yamagata and confront the boy face to face about his former title. Maybe she could at least try to understand the young manslayer's- man's, she corrected herself- past deeds, and see if he would become a problem in the near future.

_After all, he did save you from a boiling cauldron of death. And he got embarrassed to boot! _She rolled her eyes lightly._ Might as well talk to the poor... kid. That's right, he's just a kid! What else can I do? Ask when he's going to go insane and start a wild killing spree?_

Stifling the leftover shake in her fingertips with a subtle flick of her wrist, she managed to put on her zori before heading out into the courtyard, where the girls had said they'd glimpsed the new help. A glimmer of red hair behind the lush hydrangea bushes told her where he was, and one more step put the figure directly into her line of sight.

He turned, and she found herself face to face with absolute horror.

_Oh God, he's already killed someone!_

At first she thought her imagination had run away with her, that she was just projecting the image of her fears onto the red-haired man as she expected to see him: the legendary assassin. But then she realized both the knife and the blood were real, as well as the scar, and she fought the urge to shriek and rush back into the house. Leftover adrenaline from her encounter with Yamagata did nothing to quell said urge; she was moments from throwing her hands in the air and screaming bloody murder.

It was only the look on the boy's face that stopped her.

As the initial rush wore off a bit, she saw that the young man had taken all the kitchen cutlery out on a woven rush mat to be cleaned and sharpened, and he had managed to get almost all the way through in less than a few hours. On the floor was a polishing cloth to clean the knives and the horrifically large blade he held in the other was a carving knife used for slabs of meat and vegetables.

As for the scar, the line on his face seemed to be a stain from his hand. There was a rather large cut beginning to trickle down his wrist from his palm, apparently sliced open with the knife he was attempting to polish. When he looked at her expression, his eyes filled with a knowing despair, and he actually dropped the carving knife onto the ground, as if his hands had lost the will to grasp anything any longer. His skin grew pale and the shine in his eyes was more than merely the whim of twilight sparkling there.

He looked as if she'd broken him.

The young man looked down at his bloodied hand and back up at her, desperately trying to think of something to say, standing quckly and looking around for something to cover his hand. He went from a demonic entity to a lost child in less than a moment. His voice shook like leaves in a rainstorm:

"I- I'm sorry, I- I was just... just cleaning and I..." The boy had begun to back away from her like one would an approaching tiger. "I'm sorry..."

In an instant the woman saw how the last few months had been for this soldier with painfully young and vulnerable eyes. He spent every moment trying to hide himself, fearing more than anything that the very essence of who he was would see him thrown out on the street, attacked by angry villagers, condemned by people he'd never even met, and frightened by the thought of being discovered at every turn- this time perhaps being rejected by those he'd helped in the past.

This was no cold and merciless killer. This was no demon who laughed with pleasure at others' fear as he slaughtered them. This was a frightened, grief-stricken boy, one who'd been without a home for far too long.

The redhead's face fell further, and his head dropped to allow his bangs to cover his eyes as he turned away from her, clutching the wrist of his sliced hand with white fingers. Yuki realized she hadn't moved since she'd seen him holding the knife, and he'd assumed the worst. His voice was deceptively steady as he knelt to busy himself with gathering the clean cutlery, rolling it up to carry inside:

"I'm sorry I stained the tatami. I'll clean it up in a moment-"

The caretaker forced herself to act. She stepped forward until she'd reached him and took his injured hand between both of hers, unhurriedly reaching to apply her handkerchief to the cut.

That instantly broke any hint of the shell of polite indifference he'd tried to put up: the boy flinched away as she touched him, and the woman saw that he was almost trying to keep her from coming in contact with the red stain on his palm. His eyes stayed on her, alarmed and panicked, as if at any moment she would come at him with her fists. Yuki was astonished and fascinated: he seemed just as afraid of her as she had been of him a mere minute ago.

_As if I'd be any match for him... He's afraid _for _me?_

In that moment, Yuki felt her heart break, and she regained her resolve. She moved the extra few inches of space between the, and covered the dark red line with clean white cotton cloth, wrapping it gently and trying to keep from hurting him further as she stopped the bleeding.

She met his eyes steadily. "You do good work. When it's not on yourself."

The boy blinked at her. She smiled at him, and he practically collapsed. Himura's head bowed further, and a single tear slipped from his closed eyes. A gasp came from deep in his throat and it took a full minute before he was able to speak. All of the relief in the world graced his quiet reply.

"...Thank you..."

Deep red hair covered most of his face in the violet darkness, and he struggled to breathe as his body shivered with emotion, trying not to break down further from the woman's act of kindness: so small, yet so much more than he had been shown for such a long time.

She supported him as they slowly made their way indoors, Himura clutching his hand and Yuki holding his shoulders to hold him steady.

Yuki told herself he'd get first bowl when they served the _niku-jaga_ that night.

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Hayashii was so tired he could barely move. All the jobs he'd found for someone his size out in the boiling streets of Kyoto were construction jobs. A bustling city needed new and bigger buildings for people to bustle in, and everyone was trying to either rebuild destroyed housings or build their places up bigger and nicer for the extra business.

The ex-captain mopped his brow with a napkin, sighing as a chill breeze from the night air came rushing in the window, enveloping his soggy skin in a cape of cool relaxation. Kenshin had been missing when he came back, but then dinner had just begun, and he knew not to expect the boy back until the night's cleaning had been tended to. Hayashii had taken those jobs enough times to know one could never take late nights personally.

So he'd asked a passing maid for a drink to settle down with, listening to the quiet plinking of a shamisen drifting in the sliding balcony door and watched the dim glow of red and yellow paper lamps hanging in rows down in rafters below. A second story room always allowed for good people watching, so the aging man pulled a cushy pillow toward the edge of their tatami floor and leaned toward the night, his tray standing dutifully at attention beside him.

Behind him, Himura's katana lay upright in the corner against the wall.

_I hope it went well for him today... Been a while since he's done well in cities like these._

The sake he'd ordered had almost cooled enough to pour, and he traced the small saucer cup in a perfect circle around its rim, absently listening to the frequency of the friction between his fingertip and the dark porcelain. His wife had hated it when he'd done that.

Fresh sweat glistened on his upper lip, and he dabbed at it again, tossing the napkin over his shoulder when he realized the moisture had nothing to do with heat. Memories were dangerous. At least he'd gotten to the point where he didn't sweat blood anymore, but it had taken a good few turns of the seasons to calm him down enough to where a bar brawl wasn't needed to forget the pain. As a captain, he was respected. He was feared. He had no one to question him, or make him care, and all he had to do was whatever he was told.

Until Himura came along...

That boy was both a healing balm and an acid over his brain. One moment he'd be tending Himura's wounds and the next he was back a decade past, faced with other children beneath his hands, ones that did not respond when he tried to stop their bleeding, tried to wake them...

Hayashii took the too-hot sake tumbler and downed it in one long swallow, ignoring his scorched throat. Damn.

He'd known that it would be hard without his wife and children, that one day it would sink in that he'd never be going home to them again after months on the battlefield. No more bedtime stories, no more first words or first steps, no little empty rice bowls on the table beside his own. No joyous noise from outside as they played. No sweet, soft skin as the cool flesh of Mika's hands played with the stubble on his chin or the length of his greying hair.

No family.

A cry rose from a small group of people watching a traveling performer down the road. Tinny applause and appreciative cooing drizzled in, muffled by the flute that had taken the shamisen's place. Hayashii watched in a manner quite becoming of a stone statue, letting it wash up and through him without any indication of being touched by it. His sake was gone and his spirits seemed to have been swallowed up with it.

He'd known it would be hard. He just wished he didn't miss them so damned much.

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(1) Nikujaga is a type of stewed veggies, potatoes and beef dish with sweet sauce: VERY tasty. (My host dad always said, "If you don't learn to make good niku-jaga, you'll NEVER get married! XD)

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Yyyeah... Remember that whole pregnancy thing? My baby girl's a year old now. And already done three cosplays! A pyrate child, Koenma and Ponyo! Ahem.

SORRY! XD SO much in the way! But yes, the urge hit me yesterday and I wrote as much as I could without stopping. You guys deserve that much! So never forget- we've learned that even a 24 year old can still continue FanFiction! If only for a bit... LOL.

Lemme know if you have any ideas on this, and if you want to listen to what I listened to while writing this, the link is: http:/www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=zYoHBH1UOTE&feature=autoplay&list=PL48281C39A0BE4BA1&index=1&playnext=12 . Just replace the (dot) with a period. Enjoy, guys!

LUFFS! Emiri

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